


Kidnapped Hearts

by Southern_Fried_Penguin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Sherlock, But I'll die happy, Case Fic, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, How long will it take, Humor, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by a chapter in another Fic, John does too, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Patient John, Snarky Sherlock, What Have I Done, this ship will kill me, writing as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Fried_Penguin/pseuds/Southern_Fried_Penguin
Summary: Sherlock and John embark on a case that is more complicated than they bargained for. Each explored avenue opens up new possibilities. With John's help, can Sherlock solve the case before it's too late, or will the World's only Consulting Detective fail? Will the clues he follows on the case also enlighten him to the mystery that is his own heart? How will John react when Sherlock's humanity starts to shine through?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I'm hoping that everyone has enjoyed their Thanksgiving holidays. Now that Christmas is fast approaching, I will definitely need some down time and what better way to relax than to write! 
> 
> I have the majority of this fic already mapped out in my head. It's just going to be a matter of getting it down, and being happy with the way I've written it. As the weeks go by, I shall add more tags as I see fit. It has no rating, for the moment, but that will definately change as the work continues.
> 
> With the holidays I will be extremely busy but I plan on posting a new chapter each Sunday. (It's my one day off every week.) So if you feel so inclined, I invite you to come back and visit me every week. All comments are always welcomed!
> 
> xxx Penguin

It a windy day in April. Not overly chilly for this time of year. The sky was dark, as if threatening to consume the sun altogether. It was only around 1 o'clock so John still had a little time to kill. It was Friday, which meant that he was meeting Lestrade tonight at The Ole Nag, a pub they frequented where they participated in the weekly Pub Quiz. Their team had won the last few weeks and John was enjoying the attention he received because of it. It seemed that every week they were declared the winners, he had walked out with a date for the following evening. Even if they never turned into something serious, he was enjoying them nevertheless.

He had thought about asking Sherlock to join them on occasion but Lestrade had quickly talked him out of that idea.

“Honestly, John. He doesn’t know the first thing about pop culture, sports, or anything that would be relevant. All he would succeed in doing would be to make everyone uncomfortable, and frankly a little time away from him will do you good. You’ll see.” John reluctantly agreed.

After getting dressed, he made his way downstairs to see what Sherlock was up to. Even though he was only going to be gone a few hours, he wanted to make sure that Sherlock wouldn’t get into too much trouble while he was away. He had learned his lesson last time, when he had come home to a flat full of smoke and the toaster full ablaze in the kitchen. Sherlock had simply stared at it indignantly, as if he was personally insulted that the toaster decided to end its own life than to perform whatever function that Sherlock had saw fit. After that (and apologizing profusely to Mrs. Hudson) he had made it a point to make sure that Sherlock was sufficiently occupied safely before he left for an extended period of time.

He stepped into the kitchen and put the kettle to boil. He then glanced into the sitting room, seeing the impossible ball that the 6ft detective managed to roll himself into on the sofa. Walking over, he smiled to himself.

“I don’t see how in the world you manage to get yourself into the most unlikely of positions.”

The ball grunted.

“If you stay like that for too long, you’ll wind up with a pain in your neck and your back, and I don’t want to hear you whining to me about it later.”  
Silence.

“I mean it Sherlock. I’ll be going out later to meet Lestrade, and I don’t want to see that you haven’t moved when I get back.”

More silence.

Shaking his head he walked back into the kitchen towards the kettle that had just shut itself off. He muttered to himself, although making sure it was still loud enough for Sherlock to hear him. “Idiot. You figured that after a year of this I’d be used to it. He does whatever he feels like to himself and then comes to me like a little kid to fix it when it all goes wrong. He’ll end up with a pain in the neck, while I’m stuck with a pain in my arse.” He heard the ball begin to chuckle. “I know you can hear me, you prat.”

With a great show of nonchalance, the ball began to unwind itself and a mop of dark curls came into view. It let out a great sigh before stretching out completely. “Honestly John, it's just transport. Why do you care how I treat it?”

“Because I am your friend Sherlock and that's what friends do.”

“I suppose that since you are the only friend I seem to have, I should take your opinion into consideration.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

At the use of such a word, Sherlock just blinked at him, his face registering surprise. “I had no idea you were becoming so fluent in the better side of the English language. Trying to impress a date? I don't know what for. As long as you bring them to a restaurant that has pictures on the menu, I'm sure your night of conquest is assured.” John stood for a moment and let the thinly veiled insult sink in. He knew he should be used to them now, and almost always are never meant in the way it was delivered. However this time, it sparked a fuse that had been smouldering a little more with each of Sherlock's faux pas.

This time, he blew.

“You really think I'm an idiot, don't you?” he growled.

“Now John…”

“Shut up!”

“That's not what I meant….”

“Maybe not, but I heard what you said. I hear everything you say. And yeah, maybe I am an idiot compared to you. But at least I know about the BLOODY SOLAR SYSTEM!”

“God, not this again.” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.

John, on his part, pinched the bridge of his nose and silently counted to ten. He knew it wouldn't look good if he met Lestrade with Sherlock's blood on his knuckles. This time he counted to twenty.

“I'm not doing this now. I'm going out for a few hours. Tie yourself into a pretzel for all I care. Just don't burn the flat down before I get back!”

“Would you rather I wait until you got home then? Seems it would increase the chance of you yelling at me if you're here when it happens.”

John knew he had to leave NOW. He really needed a pint before he did something he regretted. He turned and went to grab his jacket when Sherlock's voice stopped him in his tracks. “I'm afraid that you aren't going anywhere John.”

John slowly turned and glared at him. “And why the hell not?”

Sherlock simply smiled that Shit-eating grin of his and calmly pointed to the window. As if on cue, thunder rumbled and fat drops of rain began pelting the window. Within a minute, a small deluge was upon them. John's eyes widened in amazement. “How did you….?”

“Science John. I had been calculating the barometric pressure and humidity and I had estimated the probability of precipitation to be…”

“Wonderful!” John shouted, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Not only will you outlive God trying to have the last word, now you apparently conspire with the Almighty to ruin my plans this evening!”

“You are still free to go whenever you wish. But seeing as how you always have trouble hailing a cab as it is, the weather will make it even more challenging for you. It's your best bet to just stay here. We can play Cluedo if you like.”

“I'd rather not, if you don't mind. The last game didn't end so well!” he said, pointing to the game board that was still stuck on the wall with a knife in the center of it. “I'm going upstairs. Do whatever the hell you want.” With that, he turned and stomped upstairs, slamming his door with emphasis. Sherlock sat for a moment and just stared in the direction that John had went. John had always given him his space when he was sulking. He supposed it was his turn.

He got up and went to his laptop, logging into his email account. Perhaps he could find a suitable distraction. He read heading after heading, finding nothing worth his time. But at the very bottom, something caught his eye. Clicking on it, he read a few lines then immediately jumped up and ran upstairs.

“John!”

He took them two at a time then knocked loudly.

“John!”

He heard John's bed creaking, as if he was tossing on it. It hadn't been long enough for John to fall asleep so he knocked again, even louder. He heard two feet hit the ground and John muttering as he shuffled towards him.

“I swear to God you better be either bleeding or dead Sherlock….”

Hearing him, Sherlock responded “If I was dead, how could I be knocking on your door John? Honestly.”

The door swung open and John looked absolutely murderous. “What the hell do you want?”

Sherlock grinned. “We have a case!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a case, and an inside look at how John and Sherlock begin to work on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I know that I said that I would update on Sunday but I will be hella busy tomorrow helping host a Corporate Christmas Party. I decided to update a day early. I hope you enjoy!

John blinked. “What do you mean, we have a case?”

Sherlock sighed. “You know I loathe repeating myself. You heard me.”

“Alright. But I mean, did the Yard call you or…”

“Email, John. Now come!” With that he promptly turned around and headed back downstairs. John glanced upwards and silently prayed for patience, as he often did nowadays, and followed dutifully.

Within an hour they had contacted the client via online chat to ask for more information than what was originally presented. It seemed that people were simply vanishing off the streets, teenagers mostly although a few younger children were missing as well. Sherlock attempted to make arrangements to meet with their potential client once the weather was no longer inclement, but they refused stating that they preferred to remain anonymous. Apparently the tip was coming from someone who worked for a small government agency whose job it was to ensure the safety and well-being of children who were known to be in families deemed ‘at risk’. It was an offence to give out personal information such as names and addresses, but the client wanted to seek help without risking their position. Only one file was exchanged, with the promise that they would try to help further if they could, as long as everything remained anonymous. Sherlock reluctantly agreed. Once the conversation ended, John had taken the name and file he was given and began to research what he could find online. Sherlock, for his part, just paced impatiently until John found something useful.

“Alright then. Kenna Brooks. Age 15. Says here that she was on the verge of being called a prodigy, with talents including the piano and mathematics. However, she decided that instead of going to University as her parents had hoped she wanted to be an actress or a model.” Sherlock snorted in obvious disdain. John gave him a pointed look then continued. “It seems that the father was determined to get her to continue her schooling, one way or another. It’s noted here that the father had a notorious gambling problem. Perhaps he felt that if his daughter got a degree she could make enough income to support his habit?”

“It’s possible. Parents are always wanting to choose their children’s path in life instead of letting them choose for themselves.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

“Do you honestly think that my parents took one look at me and said ‘I think our boy should be a detective’?”

“What did they want you to be?”

“A barrister, if you can believe it.” John couldn’t help but smile at that. “What’s so funny?”

“Maybe there is some truth to that. You certainly like to argue.”

“John, I do not ‘argue’. I simply state facts that are backed with ample evidence.”

“I rest my case, your honor.”

Sherlock sent him a withering glare. “If you're done taking the piss out of me, might we continue?”

John laughed, but focused once again on the laptop. “According to this, Kenna was walking her way towards Kensington. Her piano instructor lived in the area and she was scheduled a lesson for that afternoon, but she never arrived and hadn't been heard from since."

“I'm assuming that people along the route she had been taking have been questioned?"

John was silent as he read a little farther before he continued. “The only lead they had was the small cafe on the corner. The barista there said Kenna stopped by every afternoon and bought a hot tea to go. Apparently when she stopped that day, it was the last time anyone had heard from her."

“How long ago?"

“Says here about a week."

Sherlock turned his grim demeanor towards the window, his mood mirrored by the storm. He knew as well as anyone that the first 48 hours were critical. After that any viable evidence could become tainted or destroyed. But he had given his word and he was determined. Turning quickly he went for his coat that was hanging neatly beside the door. John’s incredulous gaze followed him. “Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

“I'm going to ask a few questions myself." he replied.

“In this weather?"

“Crime doesn't wait for a sunny day John. If it did, I believe I'd be out of a job."

“Do you want me to come with you?"

Sherlock smirked. “I assumed you would. If you didn't, you wouldn't have anything to blog about."

John clenched his fist, reminding himself that strangling his best friend wasn't a good idea, although there would be plenty who wouldn't blame him for it. He quickly donned his own jacket and followed Sherlock downstairs. Sherlock was waiting for him by the door, pulling on his leather gloves. “Should we have called for a cab? You said yourself that hailing one in this weather was impossible."

“For you perhaps. 10 quid says I catch one within a minute."

“Alright you arse. But if I win you're also paying the fare. You're not leaving me stuck with it again."

Sherlock opened the door and they were greeted by the slapping sound of rain hitting the pavement. “Deal." John watched him as he turned up the collar on his Belstaff and took 3 large steps towards the curb, hand raised high. Within seconds a sleek black cab halted in front of him. John’s jaw dropped as Sherlock opened the door and motioned for him to quickly climb inside. He did so, making sure the door to the flat was shut firmly behind him. Sherlock settled in beside him and shook his head sending stray drops of water on John.

“Oi!" John protested. Sherlock gave the cabbie an address and settled in as the cab slowly merged into traffic.

“I believe you owe me 10 quid." John only scowled while watching London pass them by, remaining silent. After going a few more blocks, he turned to face Sherlock.

“You're wrong, you know."

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I highly doubt that. Care to enlighten me on what it is I'm supposedly mistaken about?"

“Well being a soldier and a doctor, I could always blog about different ways to kill an annoying flatmate without leaving a single trace of evidence or damage to the body."

Sherlock couldn't help his chuckle and soon John’s grin matched his own. After the moment passed, Sherlock went back to staring out the window, his excitement growing.

The Game was on!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little deducing....and off we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again friends! I'm sorry to say that this chapter comes with some bad news. 3 days ago my fiance suffered a minor heart attack. Rest assured that he is home and feeling much better, but caring for him may take away some of my writing time. I promise to try to stay on schedule as much as possible.
> 
>  
> 
> Penguin

By the time they had arrived, the rain had slowed to an inconvenient drizzle. Most of the ride had passed in silence, as they often do. Sherlock was going through theories in his mind while John remained quietly stoic, watching the scenery as they whizzed by. 

The coffee shop was brightly lit, almost glowing in the dreary haze that surrounded them. Few patrons could be seen inside. The few who had braved the weather were engrossed in their own activities: one was typing away on a tablet, another blindly sipped their beverage while reading a newspaper. In the far corner a teenager stared wistfully out the window, a pair of headphones draped from his ears. Both men stood just inside the doorway allowing the warmth of the shop to chase away the London chill. John leaned towards Sherlock so he could speak quietly.

“What makes you so sure the person we need to speak with is here? Could be their day off, you know.”

“Look around John. We're not exactly in the suburbs here. Still a rather busy part of London. Most people don't have the luxury of staying home just because of the weather. A warm coffee shop would be most welcoming.”

“I'm not following.."

Sherlock sighed. “Think John. The busier they anticipate business, the more staff they'll have on hand. Probability is in our favor.”

“But there's only one person working the counter.”

“Just before we walked in, there were three of them. The young man standing there, an older gentleman and a young lady. The older man went through the door over there. Judging by the smallwares he was holding its probably a kitchen area where he can clean up from the rush we conveniently missed. The young lady followed him but her hands were empty, except for her mobile. From the small rectangular bulge in her front pocket, my guess is she's going outside for a smoke in the back alley.”

“Alright. So who do you think we should talk to first?”

“Probably the looking young man who keeps looking our way. Looks rather nervous, doesn't he?”

John looked over towards the counter. Sure enough the young man was still behind the counter. Probably early 20's. He continued going about his business but kept glancing at them every chance he got. “Should you talk to him, or should I?” John murmured.

“Probably best if you lead. I'll jump in if I feel it necessary.” Sherlock replied. Nodding, John put a smile on his face and walked towards the counter. Sherlock followed but at a distance, not wanting to frighten their target. Not yet anyway. He wanted to listen to what he had to say first. There was a small table near the left side of the counter with two chairs. Sherlock promptly sat in one of them. It also allowed him an unobstructed view behind the till.

John approached and made a show of pulling out his wallet and looking at the bills nestled inside. He then looked up and pretended to read the menu board posted on the wall above them. In reality he was using his peripheral vision to see where Sherlock had settled himself. Close enough to observe, but not so close to make it obvious. The barista walked over to greet John. “Afternoon mate. What can I get you?” John pretended to consider his options a moment longer before answering.

“Just a coffee, thanks.” The young man nodded then turned around to pour the beverage. “You've been busy today?”

“We were earlier. Seemed like everyone in a 10 block radius wanted something warm today. You're lucky you just missed the crowd.” John saw Sherlock slightly smirk, pleased he had be right about the rush.

“I bet you get a lot of regulars every day. See the same people day in and day out.”

“What coffee shop doesn't? It's gotten to the point where I can tell the time based on who comes in and when.”

“Really? How does that work?” 

“Around 6 am is usually when we get a lot of cabbies. By 9 it's usually the mums who come in with their little ones while doing the shopping. Lots of biscuits bought around that time too.” John smiled at the thought of little ones running around their exasperated mothers with chocolate stained faces. “Lunch rush begins around 1130 and lasts until about 130. Seems like every businessman, office worker and nanny needs a boost by then.”

“No one your age then?” John asked. He saw the barista shuffling a bit more so he knew he was on the right track.

“Not really. It's not like we're close to any schools here.”

John was so intent on listening and pondering his next question that he hasn't heard Sherlock come up behind him. The deep voice suddenly appearing to his left made him jump. “Interesting that you brought up schools. Since there aren't any close, as you say, is that why you were using your feet to try to hide the knapsack you have hidden under the counter?”

John seemed to jump a mile high. “Jesus Sherlock! Don't do that!” Sherlock ignored him. He had been focusing on the young man's face during his conversation with John. Increased breathing, slight dilation of pupils, unable to stand still. The boy was definitely lying about something.

At the mention of his name Sherlock saw the boy take a step back, recognition instantly setting in. “You're that detective! The one with the hat!” At the mention of that damnable hat, Sherlock made a mental note to burn it when he got home. Not that John would let him, of course. Perhaps it could just go....missing. Returning to the case he cleared his throat and used his condescending voice, the one most fun to use on Anderson. “Yes. Since you know who I am you also know that I always find out what I want to know. Don't bother trying to lie because It. Won't. Work.”

“Hold on, what knapsack?” John asked. Sherlock answered him without taking his eyes off the boy. “I saw it when I was sitting at the table over there. It's kept directly under the till, somewhere that he will be standing at almost all times. So he's protective of it. Why? It's not like it's an expensive bag, quite the opposite really. So that leaves the options of the contents or sentimental value. Perhaps both. Quick question. You don't happen to play piano, do you?”

“N-no...I…”

“Of course not. The rather inelegant shape of your fingers suggests that you would be hopelessly inept at it. However the knapsack is sporting a rather interesting set of keychains. To anyone else they look to be a random assortment of musical notes but someone trained in music can easily rearrange them and realize that they are actually the opening notes to the Minuet for Her Majesty's Birthday in F major by none other than Johann Christian Bach. That certainly holds no interest for some barista in a coffee shop, but for a piano prodigy? It would be elementary. Logical conclusion is that the knapsack doesn't belong to you but in fact belongs to now missing Kenna Brooks, which means you either had something to do with her disappearance or at the very least know where she is.”

Both John and the boy just stood there, one in shock and the other in amazement. Before John could say anything, Sherlock interrupted him. “Please don't say that was brilliant or any other derivative of the word. You've expressed that every which way possible and frankly it's getting repetitive.” John just shook his head then looked at the boy. “Well, anything to say?”

Without warning he grabbed the knapsack and bolted through the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few answers, but more questions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the Holidays fast approaching I'm not 100% sure that I'll be able to post next week as scheduled. It is Christmas, after all. If I don't, this is me wishing everyone a safe Holiday now!
> 
> X's and O's  
> Penguin

They ran after him, following his trail of chaos through the kitchen. Baking pans clattered to the ground. Mugs and teacups shattered as they were knocked over. The boy burst through the door to the back alley and tried to hinder his chasers by slamming the door on them. John anticipated his move and dropped his shoulder to hit the closing door full force. It burst open wildly causing the suspect to be thrown back in the alley, landing unceremoniously on his backside. Before he could register what had happened, he was surrounded by the two men.

“Well that was tedious.” Sherlock remarked. “Now if you don’t mind, the entire tale. And I wouldn’t try to run again. I highly doubt you could outrun the flight of a bullet.” On cue, John pulled out his pistol and cocked it, more for show than intent to use. But it worked.

He held up his hands. “Okay okay!” he said quickly. “I don’t know where she is. But I do know that she had intending on running away.”

Sherlock glared. “Explain.”

“If you knew her father, I wouldn’t need to. He’s a right bastard, that one. He never showed her one bit of kindness, and nothing she ever did was good enough for him.”

“Are you saying that he abused her?” John asked.

“He never laid hands on her, if that’s what you mean. But he constantly pushed her and her abilities. He never gave her a moment’s rest, always signing her up for some class or lesson. He even went so far to volunteer her for things without her permission.”

“Such as?”

“Performances. Concerts. She would get paid a tidy sum and he would keep everything for himself.”

“And this is why she wanted to run away? Where was she going to go?”

“To a small cabin up north. My family and I own it but it’s rarely used. I offered it to her until she could get settled on her own.”

John looked incredulous. “You do realize she’s a minor, right? I’m assuming that you’re not? What’s your name anyway?”

The boy swallowed. “My name is Callum. I’m 22.”

“Ok Callum. If you’re 22 and she’s ONLY BLOODY 15, how the hell did you think you could pull this off? There’s laws against that, you know. You could go to jail for a really long time.”

“You can’t help who you fall in love with. Age is just a number.”

John snorted sarcastically. “Love? What the hell do you know of love at your age? You’re barely out of short pants.”

Sherlock watched this entire exchange quietly. If John was going to play the ‘bad cop’ he supposed that left the role of ‘good cop’ to him. It was a good thing he had perfected his acting skills long ago. He crouched down towards Callum so as not to look so threatening. “We understand.” he said quietly.

John stared at him in disbelief. “WE DO?”

“Absolutely. Love is a very vicious motivator. Otherwise he wouldn't have broken the law so willingly. It also explains the knapsack he's been keeping.” John looked at him in askance. Keeping up the facade Sherlock spoke to Callum again. “Would you please explain it to my colleague here? Sometimes he needs help observing the obvious.”

John fumed. Callum swallowed. “Kenna knew she couldn't just pack up and leave. She gave me the bag with a few things in it to deliver to the cabin ahead of time. Every day she would bring a few more things and give them to me. I would bring them to our cabin everyday after work and return to work the next day with the empty bag, waiting for the next few things. But she hasn't come back for days. I've called her, both on the mobile her parents know about and the one I gave her. Nothing. I've been worried, even more so when others had come around asking questions. I couldn't exactly be honest with what I know, especially with the details of our relationship. But I'm glad you're looking for her Mr. Holmes. If anyone can find her, I know you can.”

“Indeed. Is there anything else that we should be aware of? Think carefully...the smallest details can hold the biggest clues.”

John had watched the boy carefully but decided that he was genuine in his concern for the missing girl, and not just trying to misdirect them. His gut instinct hadn't failed him in the past so he was willing to trust it now.

“The only thing I can think of is every time she came in she had something to say about the homeless man a few blocks from here.”

That immediately caught Sherlock's attention. His Network was vast and still growing. If this was a clue worth following, he may be farther ahead than he thought. “What did she say?” he asked. “Was he harassing her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what exactly? And do be quick and precise. Supposedly you love this young lady so now is not the time to let emotions cloud facts.”

“She used to say that he would shout things to her. Every day it was the same thing.”

Sherlock let his thinning patience show. “What. Did. He. Say?”

Callum lowered his voice as if he was speaking some dark secret. “The Higher, The Fewer.”

John furrowed his brows in puzzlement. It didn't make any sense to him at all. He glanced at Sherlock, ready to ask him if he had any idea what it meant. He immediately saw Sherlock's eyes with a faraway look, dancing quickly back and forth as if he was reading something out of thin air. John knew enough about Sherlock's Mind Palace to know that he probably wasn't too far from the truth. Callum watched Sherlock, his eyes growing bigger. “Is he...going to be ok?” he asked. 

John glanced down at the boy. After a moment he held out his hand and offered to help him up. Callum accepted, standing on shaky legs. “Ta.”

John nodded, then pointed to Sherlock. “Him? Yeah. It's this thing he does, a memory technique. Can be a bit creepy, but I've gotten used to it.”

Before Callum could respond Sherlock gasped as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. “John! We need to go.” he commanded.

John looked at Callum. “What about him?”

“If he need him we know where to find him. Now LET'S GO!” Sherlock promptly turned around and ran the opposite way down the tiny alley. John hesitated for only a moment before taking off after him.

Callum just stared as they ran until they turned a corner and was out of sight. Feeling a presence behind him, he whirled in surprise only to find his fellow barista. She held out her open pack of cigarettes in offer. Callum accepted with a shaky hand.

“You okay?” she asked. He lit up before answering.

“I'm not sure. If something has caught the attention of Sherlock Holmes, then probably not.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding a little humor among the mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for my lack of updating. Work and the holidays took the majority of my time not to mention S4!!!
> 
> I won't discuss spoilers in case there are a few people who still haven't seen it but I will say this:  
> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> That is all.

John took off after Sherlock like a shot, but as fast as he was he was having trouble keeping up with Sherlock’s longer strides. He followed him through alleys, side streets, and even cut through a warehouse or two. At one point he had lost sight of him and wondered which direction he went in, but after listening for a moment he heard the rapid clicking of those posh shoes Sherlock favored so much.

Eventually Sherlock stopped underneath a bridge. Once he was by his side, John leaned over so he could attempt to catch his breath.

“Geez, Sherlock…” he wheezed, “I’m not….a young man….anymore.” Sherlock grinned at him, still panting himself. After a minute or two, John felt that he has sufficiently caught his breath to begin asking questions. “Ok, what the hell was that all about?”

Sherlock, for his part, simply straightened his coat and flipped his collar, suddenly appearing as if he hadn’t just led John on a merry chase. His voice was strong and steady as he replied, “I’m looking for one of my Network contacts.”

“Any particular one, or will any of your tramps do? Because I knew we’ve passed several running over here. Almost tripped over one, actually.”

“Yes. An older man, was disowned by his family because he only understood things in an abstract sense. This is his usual area for bedding down.”

“Abstract sense?” “If someone were to ask you a normal question, you would simply give a straight-forward answer, yes? However, he would answer you in a riddle or other means. Every genius has their way of testing those around them.”

“Genius is he? Does that mean that you test me then?”

“Constantly.”

“And when did you start this?”

“The day I met you.”

“Come again??”

“I said dangerous, and you showed up.” Sherlock answered, grinning.

John chuckled. “All right you arse. Now where is he? And why exactly is he the one we are looking for?”

“Just a hunch, I suppose. It's the best lead we've got at the moment.” Sherlock looked around for a moment, not seeing any signs of the man in question. He walked over to a rundown bench that looked as if it was ready to fall apart at any second. Sherlock bent down to gaze at it at eye level, took 3 short sniffs of the air, then promptly stood back up. “Looks like we just missed him.”

“How could you tell?” John asked.

“The bench is still slightly warm, and..”

“Anyone could have sat there. It's London for God's sake!” John interrupted.

“There is the faint odor of bourbon and the musk of a man more worried about finding food than bathing.” he continued, having to slightly raise his views to be heard over John. “He's only just left the area.”

“Should we go find him then?”

“No. He's the paranoid sort. If he's willing to talk to anyone this is the only place he'll do it. We'll have to come back in an hour or so.”

“Alright then. I'm famished. Fancy a bite?”

“You know I don't eat while I'm working. Slows me down.”

John made a noise that Sherlock couldn't decide if it was a chuckle or a growl. “We've been over this Sherlock. You say your mind is a fine-tuned machine. Machines need fuel to run properly. Now either you pick something or I will.”

“If you insist on being so utterly annoying about it, I suppose we can stop by Angelo's. At least he'll leave me in peace.”

They walked a few blocks over and was greeted by a bell as soon as they stepped inside Angelo’s, the dim lighting seeming cozy and the smell of warm food making John's mouth water. They had barely seated themselves when they were welcomed by the man himself.

“Sherlock! Wonderful to see you again! And you Dr. Watson. As always, whatever you want, it's on the house.”

“Nothing for me thank you, but John here seems intent on eating half your inventory.” he answered with a smile. John only glared. “Something quick will do but nothing too heavy. Can't have him falling behind again while we're giving chase.”

Angelo, used to Sherlock's humor by now, looked between the two of them with a smile. “You two having a domestic?” he laughed. “Shall I bring another candle, perhaps a bottle of wine? Perhaps that will mellow him out a bit, yeah?”

“FOR THE LAST TIME....” John roared, “We are not a couple!”

Sherlock faked a pout, clearly enjoying teasing John. “I'm hurt, John! Could have at least told me before you went off and replaced me.” Angelo snorted a laugh.

“Sod off, you piss pot.” John snapped, quickly rising from the table and storming outside. Angelo watched in surprise, then turned to Sherlock. “Aren't you going after him?” he asked.

“No. He'll walk around to the alley, huff and puff for a few moments then return. Quite predictable. Quite dull. All the same, bring him a small helping of your roast chicken and gnocchi. He did say he was hungry, after all. Can't have my blogger wasting away.”

“You've got it.” Angelo replied, walking away to place their order.

Sherlock sat for a moment, gazing out the window at the hustle passing them on the busy London streets. He began thinking about what he knew so far about the missing teenager. Something just wasn't adding up. Seemed a rather open and shut case, really. Unhappy girl runs off with her boyfriend. It happens everyday, and Sherlock normally wouldn't have even batted an eye to help. But there was just...something…..

He came out of his thoughts when Angelo placed the ordered food where John was sitting. He was surprised that John still hadn't returned. He usually didn't take this long. Worry niggled at his insides for a moment, before he told himself he was being illogical. John was a soldier, he knew how to handle himself. He also never went anywhere without his gun. Whatever came John Watson's way, it was sure to be handled.

Sherlock looked around the small restaurant. A handful of people were scattered about but everyone had their focus on a small television nestled in a high corner. Glancing at it he saw the face of an older man in an expensive suit and the words LORD DEVIN FIGHTING WAR ON CHILD TRAFFICKING scrolled across the bottom. Not finding any interest in politics he turned back towards the cooling food on the table. Perhaps he should go check on John, just to be sure….

As he made to stand up, John came rushing back in. Angelo saw him and gave him a quizzical look, silently asking if everything was ok.

“Angelo, can you arrange to have the food delivered to the flat later?” he asked, seemingly out of breath. It was enough to catch Sherlock’s attention and he was instantly on alert.

“John? What’s the matter?” he asked. John took a breath before answering him.

“The man we’re looking for….I think I found him. And you’re not going to like it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other side of the mystery.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, I apologize in the delay of this chapter. Life has all but consumed me, not to mention a short stay in the hospital. I'm feeling better and I hope to return to a regular schedule again soon. Thanks so much for sticking with me!  
> XOXO Penguin

It was dark. Probably because she still her eyes closed tightly, the dull ache in the back of her head pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She moved her head slightly only to feel something soft yet scratchy underneath her. Confused, she managed to open her eyes just a little although the effort it took was enormous. The room was dimly lit, as if the source of the weak lighting was small and perhaps hidden. She slowly blinked away the residual blurriness, the room gradually coming into focus. It was plain, almost utilitarian. The walls were a dull gray and she thought she could make out thin shadows across them, although she hadn't noticed anything that would cast such shapes.

She rolled to her right, the scratchy material underneath her giving way and making a soft sound, almost delicate. She focused downwards she saw that she was laying on a soft pile of hay. Puzzled, she sat up and managed to bump her head on something just above her, causing the pain in her skull to spike considerably. She winced and sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing the obviously abused area. “What the hell?” she muttered to herself. She straightened up again, this time more slowly being mindful of the object just above her. It was so close she could barely manage to sit straight up. She looked up saw a flat surface: metal, dark in color, and looked like it took a hell of a beating. A sliver of fear ran through her as she looked over at the room again and something frightening became immediately clear.

Those tall thin shadows that she had seen weren't shadows at all. They were bars.

She was in a cage.

Panic swelled inside her, her throbbing head taking a backseat to her need to get out. She scooted on her knees towards one side of her makeshift prison and rattled the bars as hard as she could. The entire structure seemed to laugh at her attempt of escape.

“Hey! Is anyone there? Let me out!!” she tried to scream, but her throat wouldn't cooperate. It stung badly and her voice was barely a whisper. She swallowed, finding it nearly impossible. If she couldn't yell to make her presence known to someone she would make as noise as possible. Grabbing the bars again she shook them hard. They rattled and groaned, but never gave way. She tried again and again, the results never changing. Finally too tired to continue she she lay down on the straw again, fighting the tears that threatened her vision.

She dozed for a short time until a sound awoke her.

Tap, tap, click. Tap, tap, click.

She cautiously opened her eyes but refused to move. The room was still empty but the sound was drawing closer.

Tap, tap, click. Tap, tap, click.

Then she heard the voices. They weren't clear, but muffled. No one was in the room with her so they must be in another, or perhaps right outside a door, although she hadn't initially noticed one. She listened until she could make out two distinct voices, both apparently male. She managed to catch a few words here and there.

Girl. Criteria. More. Caution. Plan. Hero.

None of it made any sense to her. She wished she could focus more but her head still troubled her. A loud noise suddenly filled the room causing her to wince. Bright light flooded in. Her eyes burned, trying desperately to adjust. She buried her face in the soft hay trying to stop the offending light from adding further pain. Her hearing was just fine however and she suddenly realized that the loud noise was a large heavy door being swung open, the sudden light coming in from the other side.

“And how are we feeling today Ms. Kenna?” a low voice asked.

She slowly turned her head towards the sound and saw a pair of shoes, polished to a high shine peeking out from well tailored trousers. The mysterious person was standing so close to her confinement that it was impossible to see their face. That didn’t stop her from trying however. As quickly as her abused body would allow her, she slid towards the bars again and tried to look up. Her reward for her effort was a swift kick to the bars from those posh shoes, narrowly missing her dirty fingers.

“Get back!” the voice ordered, cold but full of authority. Her terror caused her shrink back towards the far corner, huddling like stray dog. Not sure what to do, she did the only thing she could think of: she began to quietly sob, unable to help herself.

Hearing her, the voice suddenly softened. “None of that, dear. You’ll only be with us a short while longer.” it cooed.

She tried to speak but her words came out as a strangled whisper. “Why am I here? What have I done? Please….I want to go home.”

“And you will.” the voice continued, laced with a false sweetness. “Your freedom is assured. But it’s not up to me to decide when.”

Kenna swallowed. “Who…?”

“It doesn’t matter now. Here. Take this and save your strength. You’ll be needing it for your rescue.”

Without stooping too low, the knees in the fancy trousers bent slightly to lay something on the floor in front of the cage. Kenna was still too terrified to investigate.

“I expect this to be gone when I return.”

With that, the man turned sharply and quickly made his way out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him. The room was once again shrouded in the mute lighting. She heard the pair of voices once again, but was still too frightened to understand their words. Footsteps began to recede, as she heard the mysterious noise once again.

Tap, tap, click. Tap, tap, click.

She strained to hear it until it became too far away. Once she was sure the man was completely gone, she cautiously crawled to see what he left her. A small plate with a sandwich, an apple conveniently cut so that it would fit in between her bars, and a bottle of water. She lunged for the offering, not sure how long it had been since she had eaten. The bread was dry with only the barest scraps of meat between them, but it was absolute heaven to her. It vanished in a manner of seconds. The water was room temperature but it soothed her throat immensely. She decided to save her apple for later. Who knew when the man would come back and bring her anything else?

She lay down again and tried to cover herself by trying to burrow into the hay but there wasn’t enough to really be comfortable. Eventually she gave up and just lay there, her silent tears a lullaby into a fitful sleep.


End file.
